Angel on the the Streets of London
by CaptainCarter
Summary: Your name is Karkat Vantas and you are slightly terrified. Karkat moved to England after a destructive family feud however was forced onto the streets just six months after his arrival. Alone, cold, and scared, he finds comfort in the one person he never expected to see again.
1. Chapter 1

Your name is Karkat Vantas and you are slightly terrified. As it turns out, getting a steady job in London is next to impossible for a mutant troll. After applying for no less than 50 jobs in six months, you figured that there was no chance of you making a decent living and now you're going to lose your apartment because of the abundance of hemophobia that still resides in the English city. It's not like you've been living in the lap of luxury since you moved here anyway, forced to rent a tiny, damp room because of limited funds, eating barely enough food to keep you going and you don't have a friend in the entire country. And to top it all off, your eviction notice has fallen on your wriggling day.

Fucking perfect.

You don't have anywhere near enough money to pay your rent or to find a new place considering you're already living in the smallest, dirtiest, and cheapest apartment you could find. So, that left only one option: homelessness.

The mere thought scared you more than you would admit, and acknowledging that in just a few short days you would be camping out under the foggy city skies was almost as difficult as finding a job.

In the last week or two, you'd gathered together every last scrap of change you could find and came up with the grand total of £72.38. A cheap sleeping bag would only cost you 15 quid and the remaining money would keep you going for a while but with no end to your situation in sight, you honestly have no clue what's going to happen.

You wake on the morning of your wriggling day to the sound of harsh knocking on your door. Groaning and rolling over to check your alarm, you sit bolt upright, eyes wide with panic when the results are insufficient. _Shitshitshitshitshit. _You have overslept by almost two hours, leaving you with barely any time to get your belongings in order before you were going to be kicked out of the apartment.

"Oi! Vantas, open the door!" It's your landlord and he sounds pissed.

Swearing to yourself, you scramble out of bed and unlock the door with shaking fingers, painfully aware of your lacking appearance. You look a state, dressed only in boxers and a tatty t-shirt, hair messy, and eyes bleary with sleep. Maybe your landlord will take pity on you and allow a couple of extra hours to prepare. There was little chance of that, though, considering your landlord is a complete asshole and all.

"You look like shit, Vantas," the landlord states as soon as the door opens.

"Gee, thanks," you mutter sarcastically. He didn't seem to hear you though as he continues speaking.

"I want you out of here by 12, got it?" he orders, voice gruff. Your landlord isn't a particularly intimidating man, at 5'5 and with a beer belly but it's enough to put you on edge. You've seen the type of people that live around here and you've no doubt that they wouldn't mind getting their hands on a vulnerable little mutant given half the chance. All it would take is a few words out of place from the landlord and they would be dragging you out on the street by your horns.

"It's 11 now," you argue, knowing you don't have nearly enough time to get ready.

"And you're gonna be out by 12." You huff but keep your mouth shut. A grubby hand is shoved in front of your face. "Keys."

"What, now?" you ask.

"Keys." The hand jolts forward to emphasise its point.

"What if I go out?"

"Then you can't get back in."

"But-"

"No buts, Vantas. You should be grateful I let you stay here for this long." You scowl but hand him the keys anyway, thumping them down in his palm harder than strictly necessary. He lets out a disgruntled sound and reaches past you to slam the door in your face. With a yelp, you jump out of the way and glare at the back of the door for a few seconds before realising how much work you have to fit into an hour.

First, you try not to panic and successfully manage that before moving onto packing everything you are going to need into one, single duffle bag. Moving from Alabama to England during the winter was a decidedly stupid idea since there is a _massive _ jump in temperature but you ended up buying a ton of warm sweaters and thick, fluffy socks to get through the freezing English weather. This is now working to your advantage because you highly doubt sleeping on the street is going to be a toasty experience.

You're planning on leaving all of your unwanted belongings – well, the ones you're unable to take with you – in the apartment. You highly doubt your landlord will give a damn, it's not like he'll have any way of contacting you regardless.

You stuff several jumpers and pairs of jeans in your duffle along with a load of socks and other essential clothing items. Naturally, you pick the most insulating ones. It's not cold now but it will be soon. English weather is the most unpredictable you've ever experienced. Not that you've experienced that much, if you're honest.

Dread is slowly ebbing inside of you, building up until you're lightheaded and breathless, making you sit down and take deep, gasping breaths to subdue your fear. Once that was over, you carry on packing. Your fridge doesn't have much food in it, nor do your cupboards, so you manage to shove it all into your duffle. At this point (with 30 minutes to spare) your bag is almost full, there's just enough room for a couple of books and the only personal belonging you brought over from England: an old family photo album, full of embarrassing wriggler photos of you and Kankri. For some reason, you snagged it from your dad's room before you left the house. At times it provided comfort when things got really rough.

There's an outfit you set aside to wear today but you've yet to put it on. It consists of a pair of slightly worn, baggy blue jeans, a normal t-shirt, a grey jumper and a grey jacket. Your old trainers are your only pair of shoes and will have to do since you can't really afford anymore right now.

You dress slowly, wanting to prolong the experience of changing. You highly doubt you'll be able to change regularly once out of this place even though you packed plenty of clothes. Maybe you'll find a shelter to sleep in a couple of nights a week, that is, if they're not already full.

With a sigh, you zip up the duffle and sit on your bed. Checking the time, you find it to be 11:54. That gives you about six minutes to get out before your landlord comes thundering up the stairs to force you out and you honestly can't take that right now.

Slinging the bag over your shoulder, you make your way out of the apartment. You close the door behind you and take a deep, unsteady breath. This is it, you're homeless, you just have to go buy your sleeping bag and you're all set.

Your name is Karkat Vantas and your are completely and utterly terrified.


	2. Chapter 2

**Hello lovelies! Did forget to write an author's note on the first chapter, whoops so hi and welcome to AOTSOL. I've already written 11 chapters of this thing and will be posting it in absolutely no organised way so I hope you enjoy~**

It's been nine months since you left America, three since you lost your apartment, but it feels like years since you were last inside your family home and equally as long since you slept in a warm bed. Doorways and the occasional park bench just weren't cutting it but it's not like you had any other options.

People sneered at you like this, if they looked at all. Most turned their noses up or their heads away and pretended like their wasn't a 22 year old troll begging for cash at their feet. You hated the begging, it made you feel dirty but you had to feed yourself some way.

Meals were few and far between. Tesco value bread wasn't enough to satisfy your hunger considering that was practically the only thing you ate now. Sometimes you had to substitute your food money for water because there was literally no possible way to eat cheap white bread with a dry mouth.

About once a week people bought you a coffee or tea and even more rarely, a generous – not to mention drunk – man would feel sorry enough to buy you a bag of chips. You tried to smile at these people, tried to look grateful for their kindness, but, fuck, you were getting weaker and weaker to the point where you didn't move from the same abandoned shop doorway for a full week until a community officer had to move you along himself.

"Karkat?" You look up slowly, not recognising the voice calling your name. You never made any friends in England while you had a roof over your head and you certainly hadn't made any living on the streets, so how the fuck did someone know your name? A man was stood almost directly in front of you, looking down at you over black shades. "Karkat?" He repeats, stepping closer. You don't notice who it is immediately because Dave Strider is the last person you expected to see in London on a drizzly Tuesday. "Is that you, man?"

Something is stopping you from speaking, a weight on your chest and a lump in your throat forcing you into silence. Maybe it wasn't Dave, though, maybe it was just someone who shared a rather uncanny resemblance to him, but then that wouldn't explain how he knew your name. There was a messy fringe of blond peeking out from under his hat, it made it him look like a hipster, but it was no doubt worn for the irony. The Dave that you remember lived for irony, even if it made him look like a complete douche in the process. Then again, the Dave you remember also lived in Texas, not London.

"Can you even hear me?" He bends down a little to get a better look at you and you turn your head away, successfully avoiding his curious gaze.

"Yes, I can hear you," you mutter, trying to curl into yourself but only succeeding in getting tangled up in your sleeping bag, legs crossed too tightly to move properly, arms constricted by the slippery material.

"What are you doing here? I didn't think I'd ever see you again." Dave looks about as confused as it's possible to look. He's pushed his shades down his face slightly so he can stare more intently and it makes you uncomfortable to be under his scrutiny.

"What the fuck do you think I'm doing here?" you snap, refusing to look at him.

"You're not sleeping here are you?" he asks.

"Of course, I'm sleeping here! Why else would I be sat on the fucking street at 4pm on a Tuesday?" You're losing your patience with him. You knew Dave in high school and you got pretty close before you moved away after senior year. Not in your wildest dreams did you imagine meeting the Strider again but here he is, right in front of you. It's been almost 5 years since you last laid eyes on him and if you're honest, he's barely changed.

"Shit, dude," he rubs a hand on the back of his head, readjusting his shades so they rest over his eyes again. "How've you been?"

It's a stupid question and Dave realises as soon as he asks you, cringing slightly at the face you pull at him.

"Really fucking super. Everything went to plan as you can see by my duffle bag filled to the brim with priceless belongings and my month old plastic coffee cup with, oh, 33p in the bottom of it. My life has been nothing but a breeze since I left Texas five years ago. It's not like I haven't eaten in two days or anything, but, no, Dave, everything is fine," you finish your rant with your voice rising louder than you wanted it to. Several passers-by stare at you, wondering why the crazy homeless troll was shouting.

"Sorry, shouldn't have asked – wait, two days?" You nod and he swears to himself. "I'll be right back, don't move." He jogs off, leaving you dazed in his wake. Your eyes track him as he runs off. You're not sure whether or not you should be offended at his sudden departure, so you just sit there and hope he doesn't come back.

Minutes pass and abruptly Dave rounds the corner, a bag of take-out food in one hand, large cup of coffee in the other. You can hardly believe your eyes as Dave approaches you once more and slumps down by your side, passing you the bag and coffee in turn.

"There you go, KK," he says, looking about as smug as it's possible for someone to look.

"What the fuck is this?" you ask without an ounce of malice in your tone.

"Food. And coffee. Do you even like coffee? I can go get something else if you don't. It's no big deal. I-" Dave starts to ramble and you quickly shut him up.

"I like coffee, okay?" You take a sip and the bitter-sweet taste fills your senses. A little noise of pleasure escapes you and you quickly try and cover it up with a cough but Dave's already smirking. Sometimes people buy you coffee out of the kindness of their hearts but it's a rarity and you don't like having to waste your money on the good stuff like Dave got you. It's been three months since you were kicked out of your apartment and your funds are running low.

"How long have you been out here," Dave asks after a moment of slice. "If you don't mind asking," he adds.

You take another long swig of coffee before answering. "Three months, roughly. I check newspapers every week or so, but I don't know the actual date." With a sigh, you set the coffee down next to you and move onto the food. It's beautifully warm in your lap and as your open it the delicious aromas almost make you sigh again. You miss food like this, even if it is greasy and unhealthy as hell. Claggy, chemical filled white bread is nothing in comparison to salty fries and flavour filled burgers.

"Shit man. How long've been in England?" Dave isn't looking at your, he's fiddling with a stray thread on his jumper.

"8, 9 months I think," you answer, stuffing fries into your mouth and restraining a groan at how fucking good they taste.

"Why'd you leave America?" There's so much more he wants to ask you, you can tell.

With a big swallow, you tell him, "No more questions, just food." He looks taken aback but doesn't try and talk again.

The two of you fall into a somewhat awkward silence. Having been reunited in such an unusual way is making you feel uneasy. As far as you were concerned he was the same Dave, though. His voice was a little deeper and his freckles were a little paler and he was probably a little taller as well, but all-in-all it was the same Dave.

Back in Texas, in high school, you were friends. Close friends at that. Neither of you ever wanted to be at home. Dave loved his brother, and you loved your family too, but he didn't like being cooped up in his bro's apartment as much as you didn't enjoy listening to your brother's rants.

There was a park near your school with a lake that you both loved to spend time at. Granted, it was full of ominous items such as stray shopping trolleys and used needles but living in the middle of a city is going to give you that. The two of you would sit on the patchy grass in peaceful silence until Dave got bored and began picking strands of grass and putting them into your hair, making you shove handfuls of grass into his face. In the end, you'd both be laughing hysterically on the ground like the children you were.

Dave slowly became the only person you wanted to spend time with. It's not like you didn't have other friends, either. Dave was always going on about John and Jade and Rose, his internet friends. You hung around with a group of trolls, too, who weren't keen on humans – or mutants, it's not like you told them your blood colour, obviously, but they guessed pretty quickly – so disapproved of your relationship Dave. Of course you didn't give a shit what some highblood douchebag thought of your best friend but still.

Once you finish the burger and fries, you crumple the bag and leave it in your lap while you contently sip your coffee. Dave is looking off across the street but every now and then he glances at you and then away again as if you might disappear if he keeps his eyes off you for too long.

The two of you have been sat together for no more than 20 minutes but he's starting to shift in his spot. You bet there are a million questions on the tip of his tongue. Finally, he blurts, "You can come stay with me if you want."

You look at him incredulously.

"My apartment is pretty small but you could have the couch." He seems hopeful, small smile playing at the edges of his lips.

"I'm fine here," you state.

"No, you're really not."

"How the fuck would you know?" you snap.

"You haven't eaten in two days, Karkat," he argues. You see the concern in his eyes and it makes you uncomfortable.

With a sigh, you reply, "Well, I just did. I don't want to stay with you, okay?"

He looks disappointed as he begins to dig in his pockets. He then pulls out his wallet and opens it, fishing out a £20 note and an old receipt. Dave goes shoves his wallet back into his pocket and brings out a tiny pen – seriously, though, who the hell keeps a pen in their pockets – and scribbles something down on the receipt. You can't see what he's writing but you have a fairly good idea.

He hands you them both and gets up.

"I can't take this," you grumble as and you feebly hold the items.

"You can, you need it," he says matter-of-factly, "And that's my address, in case you couldn't figure it out. Come see me if you need anything, okay?"

You grunt and peek at the address. It's one for a fairly normal apartment block up town, you think you might've walked past it once or twice since you've been in London but you can't remember it specifically. Part of you wants to go with Dave right now. Why wouldn't you? He's basically just offered you a warm, dry place to sleep for the foreseeable future as well as proper three-times-a-day meals but you can't just impose on him as if you are still best friends.

"Fine." You tuck the money and the note safely away in your pockets and look up at him.

"See you around, Karkles." With a final, miniscule smile and a weak wave, Dave walks off.

All you can manage is, "Bye."

**Reviews are rlly cool if you want to leave one?**


	3. Chapter 3

Thus far English weather has been holding up quite nicely. However today is not one of those days as the heavens have opened and are currently in the process of pouring down just about every ounce of rain they possess.

You're huddled up under a bus shelter which is doing a decent job of shielding you, but there's a small river running through the centre of it. As long as you manage to avoid the water, you should be okay. It's around midnight and the streets are almost clear – there's certainly no one getting the bus at this hour – save for a few party-goers and the odd drunk. Tuesday's don't usually bring you much trouble with clubbers and other various drunk people since hardly anywhere is open, but you're still a little weary of your surroundings.

Over the past three months, you've gotten used to sleeping on concrete but it still takes you a while to drop off and even when you do, it's usually only for two hour periods. If you're lucky, you'll get 6 hours of sleep.

Two trolls – no wait, one of them is human – walk around the front of the bus stop, laughing together. Well, that is until they spot you. The troll stops dead in his tracks and you desperately try to sink lower into your sleeping bag, chanting _don't hurt me _over and over in your head. The troll taps his friend's arm and nods his head in your direction, a cocky smirk on his lips.

"What? It's just a homeless troll?" the humans questions, confused to why his troll friend stopped them.

"Well, well, well," the troll hums, "What do we have here?"

You keep your head down and hope they get bored quickly and leave you the hell alone. Sometimes strangers like to pick fun at you, mostly young men and trolls and almost always at night. It's a terrifying experience but that's what you get for being such an easy target, you suppose.

"Not talking, eh?" The troll steps closer, the human slowly catching on to what is actually happening. He doesn't seem to understand why you are the target of this inquisition but he isn't trying to force his friend off of you, he's merely watching with confused eyes.

You glance up at the troll and you see his cocky expression falter as he sees the colour of your eyes. He suddenly grasps the collar of your jacket and pulls you forward.

"A fucking rust blood. Ha, reckon you shits should be culled as grubs. What do you think?" He turns back to look at his friend who shrugs, obviously uncomfortable. He tugs on your collar harder and you whimper, terrified. "I think we should teach it a lesson. You look through his shit." The troll realises one hand from your collar and chucks your duffle over to the human, who reluctantly unzips it and tips the contents onto the street.

"Trolls like you disgust me," he begins to say. You're shaking uncontrollably, making tiny sounds out of fear. He's going to kill you, oh god, he's going to kill you and you can't fight him. "You're a piece of shit, little rust blood." It's probably a good thing he think you're eyes are a dark red in the unlit area under the bus shelter.

He pulls his fist back and all you can shout is 'NO!' as he brings it down hard on your jaw, effectively splitting your lip. You recoil as far as you can from your attacker and run your tongue over your throbbing mouth, tasting hot blood. Your eyes are tightly screwed shut, not wanted to view the creature who did this to you.

"You're not a rust blood. It's s fucking mutant, Terry, we found a mutant!" Fuck, he sounds excited at the prospect of beating the shit out of a mutant troll, the freak.

"Please," you plead in a whimpering voice. "Please don't hurt me, please, I'll give you everything, take everything."

With a grunt, the troll lifts you onto your feet. He's still got a death grip on you but with one hand now, the other preparing another punch.

"Don't tell me what do you disgusting, pathetic excuse for a troll." He brings his clenched fist down again and that's where everything goes black.

When you come back to consciousness, you're almost too dazed to move. You can feel the blood running down your face from a wound on your head and even though there's no one around to see the colour, you still try and wipe it away with your sleeve. The action on succeeds in spreading the sticky substance further across your face.

There's a scrap of paper lying in front of you. You guess it must've fell from your pocket at some point during the attack and landed in the bus shelter stream. The ink has run but it's still legible as you pick it up. Although you don't think anything is broken, your arms still ache to lift, your whole body hurts when you move. Written on the paper is an address.

_apartment 34, building 11_ foster street, south london

He's your only real option right now, unless you want to stick it out until morning and go find a homeless shelter. Your entire face is throbbing with pain though and you honestly don't think you have the strength to last the night now.

You shakily push yourself to your feet, swaying as you attempt to balance yourself. The scene in front of you isn't pretty. The contents is not only on the sodden ground, it is also scattered across the street as if it were litter. Worst of all your photo album is laying open just outside the bus shelter, heavy rain pelting down into it. The photos on the open pages are completely ruined, you can tell from here, others strewn in dirty pools and the on the road.

"No," you whisper, racing as fast as possible in your state over to the album, picking it up and holding tightly to your chest. All of your memories, the only thing you really have anymore – wrecked.

Next, you move to pick up your duffle bag which is ripped in places but still fairly stable and place your photo album inside with the utmost care. You pick up the discarded pictures, even the ones that are unrecognisable and lay them into the bag as well.

You glance at the receipt still grasped in your hand and decided there is no point in picking up the rest of your belongings – drenched books, destroyed clothes, a few food wrappers – they're unnecessary now.

Slinging the bag over your shoulder, wincing the sharp pain it causes, you make your way to Foster Street.

It's 1am when you hear frantic knocking at your door. You were just about to call it a night as well when the noise started and you were tempted to ignore it until a pitiful cry of 'Dave' catches your attention.

Now, you unlock the door to reveal none other than Karkat Vantas and to be quite honest, he looks like shit. His wide red eyes are darting from you to the apartment behind you and back again, making him look like a frightened child. He's trembling too but you can't tell whether that's because of the rain that's soaked him to the bone or if it has something to do with the blood that's dripping from the nasty looking cut on his eyebrow. Blood that's the same colour as yours, you note silently.

"Dave," he whimpers.

Fuck. You have no ideas what's happening so you take your dumfounded silence as an excuse to study him some more.

Karkat is clutching onto the tattered remains of his duffle bag with both hands. To go with the slash on his eyebrow, he has a split lip and scrape across his cheek which looks dirty with grit. There's the forming as a black eye going on and bruising on his other cheek across from the scrape. God, his face is gonna look a mess in a few days, not that it doesn't already look horrific.

"Dave," he tries again and this time you find the words to respond with.

"What happened?" you choose to ask first.

"I- I was attacked," he explains slowly. "They ruined all my things. I didn't know- I couldn't-," with that Karkat's face crumples and he begins to cry in a loud, ugly way and suddenly everything gets hella awkward, hella fast.

Before you know what's happening, you're pulling the crying troll into your arms and papping him ever so gently like you've seen trolls do when they're in, what was it, moraligence? "Shoosh, shoosh," you mutter into his hair. It's sopping wet and greasy and smells pretty bad, frankly, but maybe you're doing him some comfort.

Karkat sniffs miserably and glares up at you, "You're not my morail, idiot."

Sheepishly, you pull away. At least he's not crying anymore. "Heh, I'm not, I guess."

You're stood next to each other just outside your doorway, your clothes damp from where they touched his. Things are getting weird as the night – morning – goes on.

"Can I, err, can I come in?" the troll asks, wiping his eyes with his sodden gloves and only really succeeded in spreading the red tinted tears into the blood on his face. Gross.

"Yeah, course," you say quickly hoping back through the door and ushering the troll through. You feel like such a dork right now but there's not a lot you can do about it, you're just lucky you kept your shades on.

Nervously, Karkat steps in and you shut the door behind him and lock it.

"Do you want me to clean your erm," you gesture to your face, where his wounds are. Growing up with Bro and all his shitty goddamn swords and strifes made you keep a first aid kit around both your Texas apartment and your London one. Years of practice have made you a pro at dressing wounds.

"Can I shower first?" He's fiddling with the straps to his bag like he's scared of you or something.

"Sure, first on the left, can't miss it." He puts his bag on the table and you inwardly cringe at the mess he's likely to make. Not that you mind cleaning it up, he's a friend in need, after all. "Wait! You got any clean clothes." He shakes his head no. "You can borrow some of mine." Ignoring the weak protest Karkat begins to make, you head to your bedroom which is just past the bathroom.

Since he's a pretty small guy – and always has been – you go for old clothes that sit at the back of your drawer. A plain grey t-shirt and sweat pants should be fine and you grab a pair of boxers and thick socks too, just to be safe. Absently, you wonder how many times Karkat must've changed his clothes since living road-side but you know not to ask.

The Karkat you remember was always a little sensitive when it came to personal or inappropriate questions and something about your brief previous encounter tells you that he hasn't changed much. However you don't know what you were expecting. His horns to have grown out from their cute nubby state? His voice to have become deep and manly? He to be a few inches taller than you now instead of the opposite?

When you exit your bedroom, you find Karkat stood just inside of the bathroom looking very lost and slightly afraid as if you were going to kick him out at any point.

"Here," you hand him the clothes. "Towels are on the rack, you can use my shampoo and shit if you want."

"Thanks," he says cautiously.

"I'll, err, be through there," you say, pointing behind you.

"Okay."

You stare at each other awkwardly until he reaches for the door handle and you step back. The red eyes are new you think absently. He never had those. Must be an adult troll thing.

While you wait, you fish out the first aid kit from under the sink in the kitchen. You speculate that you keep in there because sword injuries always seemed to happen most in there. The first aid box is quite small and a generic dark green in colour with a white cross and 'FIRST AID' written across it in big white letters.

The last time you actually needed this thing was months ago when you had a malfunction with some dishes and ended up slicing open your finger pretty badly.

Slouching down on the couch, green box in hand, you wait, rubbing your stringing eyes to keep yourself awake.

Within 10 minutes the shower cuts off and in another five Karkat steps out, dressed in the clothes you selected for him. They don't fit him at all. The sweats are hanging low on his hips because you assume there is nothing holding them up. Karkat was kind of chubby in high school but he's thinned out considerably since then you can tell. The shirt is baggy around his shoulders and torso and you have to admit that he looks adorable like this.

There is still the pressing matter of his face, though, as well as God knows what other injuries he's got under his – your – oversized clothes.

"Come sit," you offer, patting the seat on the couch next to you encouragingly. He shuffles over and plonks himself down, eyes still nervously analysing the surroundings.

Now that you can get a better look at his injuries, they don't look as bad as first expected. His lip is swollen but not bleeding while the gash on his eyebrow is still oozing red blood. The scrapes and bruising would appear so much worse on a human but thick troll skin prevents the damage from showing as much. That doesn't stop the dark purple bruising from flourishing on his cheek bone and around his left eye.

"Shit, Karkat," you mutter, reaching up to brush a few strands of wet black hair from the deepest – known – cut. "What the hell happened to you?"

"I told you, I was attacked. A troll and a human. I guess a homeless troll was the best fucking target for mugging. Then the troll punched me and… and bust my lip and saw my blood and he went c-crazy," he fumbles over the last few words as his face crumples again.

You have no idea how to react this time since obviously shoosh papping is out of the question and it's not that Karkat didn't cry a lot in high school because he did, you just never really knew how to deal with him.

"It's okay, dude, you're safe now. We can go to the police in the morning if you want." His head snaps up at this.

"No police," he says firmly, breath hitching with sobs.

"Karkat, they need to be stopped whoever did this to you," you tell him.

"They're not going to be stopped no matter whether I report them or not."

"What?" You can't help feeling confused.

"You've seen enough of blood to know that no police branch in the country is going to give a shit about me," Karkat explains, becoming increasingly disgruntled.

"Oh," you say.

"Exactly," he huffs, "Now are you going to clean my cuts or what?"

"Oh, right." You snap yourself back to reality and crack open the first aid kit, pulling out an antiseptic wipe and a large sticky plaster that should effectively cover the eyebrow injury.

Examining the injury makes the trolls hiss and you cringe at that because if he's struggling with a bit of light prodding then how is he going to deal with the actual cleaning.

This certainly not how you were planning on spending your Tuesday night, you think gloomily. Although it could be a lot worse.

You hiss as Dave wipes away the blood and dirt from your eyebrow because it fucking stings. You want to ask him why he has antiseptic wipes. You want to ask him why he's tending to your wounds so gently. You want to ask why he let you in without question. You want to ask him so many questions so you bite your lip to stop any from escaping.

"Shh, it's okay" he murmurs like he's taking care of a little kid with a scraped knee, and not a 22 year old troll that got the crap beat out of him. He's so cautious with you, like you might break if he presses just a tad too hard. And you think he might. Your ordeal has really shaken you up.

You're trying your best not to cry but it's not working. The cleaning hurts terribly and you just want to sleep somewhere warm and safe. You've cried plenty of times in front of Dave, it's nothing new. He's so awkward, shoosh papping you like he's even close to a quadrant. You suppose he could've been considered your morail in school but humans so do not understand quadrants and you never bought it up.

Once he's finished cleaning your eyebrow, he puts a large plaster over the wound and moves onto cleansing your cheek instead. You were unconscious when the injury was made but from what you saw in the bathroom mirror, it's full of grit and dirt.

"This is gonna sting, okay?" he warns. You nod in response. The pain is intense but nothing you can't handle as Dave removes the grim from your cheek. You bite your lip hard and only succeed in causing more pain from the split there. God, you think, you're a fucking mess.

Finally, after what feels like hours, Dave is done. He announces this and you mutter a thank you. Your eyes are droopy from lack of sleep and you keep yawning loudly. He isn't fairing much better, rubbing his eyes every now and then, yawning as you are.

"You can have my bed," he says after a period of silence.

"No," you decline his offer firmly. You don't want his bed – well you do – but he's already done enough for you tonight without making him sleep on the couch as well. It's a pretty comfy couch, you've found from, you know, sitting on it for the past while. The bed is probably much comfier, though, your mind chips in. Some nights you spent in a hostel but it was nowhere near the cosiness of a real lived in home, like Dave's got going on in his comfortable apartment.

He scratches the back of his neck and sighs. "Okay," he says. "Okay, have the couch." You can tell he's too tired to argue, you don't blame him.

He heads to his bedroom and returns with a pillow and a couple of blankets and unceremoniously hands them to you. "Want pyjamas?" You shake your head. "Night, Karkat."

"Night."

Sluggishly, you make your bed and snuggle up in the blankets. The apartment is warm and toasty yet it still takes you a stretch of time to calm yourself enough to sleep, but when you do, it's solid and dreamless.

**Yooo thank u to the three ppl that reviewed! you're hella cool! i hope you like this chapter and will keep the encouragement coming! xxx**


	4. Chapter 4

**Whoops, I forgot to write author's notes on the last chapter! Hello again lovelies! Thank you so much for your reviews and favs and follows and general support! **

Karkat is still fast asleep on the couch when you stumble out of your room at 8am. You've had a sleepless night spent worrying about the currently snoozing troll, after he showed up at your door at 1 in the morning covered in an unpleasant concoction of rainwater and his own bright red blood.

He never told you the colour of his blood and you never had reason to ask. Of course you noticed the red flush that bloomed across his cheeks from time to time back in high school but it never quite clicked. Now you realise why his douchebag _friends _picked on him so much, especially the ones that never shut the fuck up about their own blood colour.

You glance over to the couch and see Karkat's peaceful form. He's got the blanket tugged close to him, legs curled up to his chest, face buried in his own warmth. He looks cosy and glad of that. You never want to see him in that state ever again, for as long as you live.

Making, you way to the kitchen, you yawn and run a hand through your bedhead. God, you're tired. You have a feeling you won't be going to work today, but you can call your boss to let him know later. With a huff, you flick on the kettle and prepare your mug for coffee, debating on whether to wake Karkat up or not. You decide he deserves the sleep.

The kettles rumbles to life, you really should buy a quieter one, and you lean back against the counter. This is life changing – no, really – Karkat coming into your life like this has to mean something. Surely, you can't just let him back onto the streets like a stray puppy you let stay overnight. You suppose he is a little like a stray puppy: tiny and pitiful.

From the couch, you hear a grumble, then silence, then a soft snore, then silence again. It makes you smile in a giddy sort of way, despite the worry swimming in your belly. Sure, you had a thing for Karkak back in the day, but that's irrelevant now. If anything, he needs you to look after him, not crush on him.

You make your coffee and take a sip, sighing at the warmth. It's not cold yet, it's only September, but god it's nice. Pulling out a chair, you take a seat at your six seater table. Terezi convinced you to buy it even though you live alone. Those idiots spent more than enough time around here for it to be of use. Still, it feels lonely to sit there alone.

Time ticks by slowly and you finish your coffee and decide to make a start on breakfast. You may as well make Karkat something nice. Since leaving home, you learnt to cook pretty well after realising you couldn't survive off of stale Doritos and left-over pizza.

You pull out bacon and eggs from the fridge and set a pan on the hob, quickly starting it up and beginning to cook your bacon. The smell wafts from the pan and fills your apartment with pleasant aromas.

You hear shuffling and glance over your shoulder to see Karkat's head rise slowly rise from behind the sofa and you stomach erupts with butterflies. Shit. You have no idea how he's going to react to this situation.

Turning your attention back to the pan, you say, "Good morning sleepyhead," in an overly enthusiastic voice, like you're trying to rile him up. What can you say? It's instinct.

He doesn't reply, just shuffles over to you and grimaces at what you assume is pain. His face still looks a state. The scrape scabbing, lip sealed up but still puffy. Because of the plaster, you obviously can't see the cut on his brow but you guess its healing okay since there's no visible blood leaking through the bandage.

"What?" he asks, confused. It must be disorientating as hell for him.

"You were attacked last night, you came to me, I fixed you up, you slept on the couch," you explain simply and crack two eggs into the pan. You'll let Karkat have the first lot, it isn't big enough for the both of you.

"Oh," is all he can come up with. He's been staring rather intently at the pan of eggs and bacon. God knows when the last time he ate a meal like this was. He must be salivating.

"Breakfast?" you say when the eggs are about done. He nods and you tell him to sit. He does so and you're honestly a little surprised he hasn't insulted you yet. In fact, there's been nothing remotely harsh the leave his mouth since he woke. The troll's in a complete daze.

You place the sizzling food onto a plate and grab a knife and fork, plonking it in front of Karkat before turning back to start on your own. While it cooks, you quickly make the troll a coffee and take up the chair opposite him, handing him the coffee. Just like last Tuesday, you think.

"So," you say.

"So," he says, already heartily tucking into his breakfast.

"About last night…"

"Don't wanna talk about it," he says between bites.

"Karkat," you start.

"No," he cuts you off, jabbing his fork in your face. "I'll get out of your hair by noon, promise."

Panic flares in you for a second, there is no way you're letting Karkat do that. "No," you state. "You can stay for as long as you want, until you get back on your feet." This is the most serious you've been in months, but it's worked as his face contorts as he tries to figure it all out. Something like that is a load to take in, you admit, giving him enough space to process the information.

"All right," he says after a pregnant pause. "But," Karkat continues, "I'm out as soon as you want me out. And I'll pay half your rent."

"You don't have to, man." You can smell your bacon starting to burn but you want to get this arrangement sorted before you go and sort your food out.

"I want to," he states, taking a massive bite of food as a clear indicator that he doesn't want to argue.

"Fine. You stay, and help pay my rent. Deal?" You hold out your hand.

"Deal." He takes it.

You weren't able to salvage the charred remains of your bacon but crunched through it anyway. After breakfast you called your boss and explained to him the situation without going into too much detail but he's a decent guy and gave you today and tomorrow off work to sort things out. For that, you are extremely thankful.

Karkat wasn't really sure where he was supposed to be, pacing around the small yet open living space in the apartment. He stopped to pick up a framed picture of Sollux, Terezi and yourself before suddenly throwing it back down and racing over to the armchair where you deposited his bag earlier. He dug through it briefly and pulled out a large book which looked damp with water damage.

His face was a picture of distress as he opened it up to reveal photographs of who you assume are his family. You sort of remember Karkat's brother having only met him on a handful of occasions, same with his father. A lot of the visible pictures are soggy and practically ruined. You think he's going to start crying as he moves over to the table and places the photo album on it and carefully lays out all of the none-damaged – or at least the ones that he could still make out – photos. In the end, there's still about 30.

You don't know for certain but you guess that these are the only copies of the photos either Karkat or his family have – had – and you can't help feeling for the troll. Nor can you help the anger that sparks up at the thought of the bastards that did this.

You're more determined than ever to help him, even if that just means putting a roof over his head and keeping him safe.

**Review to let me know what you think!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Okay, it should be fixed now. Sorry about that guys, no fucking clue what went wrong.**

You've been living with Dave for just over two weeks when you finally feel comfortable. The first few days were the worst. When Dave was home you tried to avoid him as much as possible but that was difficult in what is essentially a three room apartment and while Dave's room was assumed off limits, you didn't really feel like camping out in the bathroom. Most of the time, you sit curled up in the armchair reading Dave's books or watching TV.

Dave works at an Italian restaurant most night. On Thursdays and Fridays he gets the dinner shift, though. On those days, you decided to make the effort to cook dinner since you have to keep your stay somehow. You're not the best cook and sometimes it comes out a little shoddy but Dave's eats it anyway without complaint. You reckon he's just grateful he's not having to cook for him. And you're grateful too, fuck you are. He must've given up so much for you and you still haven't been able to pay half his rent.

But you're keeping your stay in other ways apart from cooking. You've taken up cleaning as well, keeping the apartment tidy and sparkling while your new roommate is at work, not that it was even that messy before you showed up. Or you assume so, maybe Dave was living in squalor on Monday and decided to have a massive clean-up before you arrived. Stupid idea, you know.

You haven't left the apartment much, either, since you arrived. You haven't had reason to. At the weekend, the two of you went shopping together for groceries. It was a tedious experience to say the least. Dave is not someone you enjoy shopping with. Apart from that, you've stayed put.

To be honest, you're really bored in the apartment by yourself. Granted, not as bored you were sitting roadside day-in-day-out, but still, bored. You want to be able

It's Friday night when you decide to bring it up.

You and Dave are eating dinner at his oversized dining table. It's seems ridiculous to have such a large piece of furniture in such a tiny apartment but when you asked him, he gave you a shitty sarcastic remark. That's the thing about Dave that infuriates you, his calm and collected cool-kid persona hasn't quite dropped yet leaving as an annoying man-child. Little things are endearing about him, though, like the dopey smile he gets when he's talking about his interests or how carefully he looked after you that night.

Anyway, as you put down your knife and fork against the plate of your slightly overcooked lasagne you say, "Dave."

Not looking up from his plate, he offhandedly says, "Yeah."

"I need a job," you state.

"You don't, but okay, get one." He's still not paying much attention to you.

"It's not that simple." You know he isn't going to understand, you press on anyway.

"Why?" he asks, finally looking up at you, brows creased in confusion.

"My blood, you idiot." It's about as simple as you can make your argument.

"That's fucking stupid, dude," he says casually, going back to eating.

You feel anger bubble up in you. "I can't change my fucking blood colour, you absolute bulgemunch. Do you really think I would be homeless if I could get a stable job."

Dave drops his knife and fork and holds his hands up in submission. "Whoa, I didn't mean you. It's stupid that people won't hire you because of the whole hemoprotronum."

"It's hemospectrum," you grind out. In the end, you're going to have to ask Dave for help with this particular issue.

"Fine, hemospectrum. I'll ask my boss tomorrow," he says.

"What?" you snap. What the hell does he mean? Ask his boss to give you a job? Well that's embarrassing. You could so do this on your own. Maybe. Probably. Not.

"I'll see if there's any jobs going at the restaurant for you. My boss won't give a shit about your blood."

"How do you know that?" You're not going to lose your patience with him, you're not.

"Well, technically, I don't. But he doesn't care that I'm gay, granted he didn't know that when he hired me but he didn't do fuck all about it when he found out. I bet he won't care about you blood," Dave explains and fuck are you really hearing this? Your heart makes a little jump at the news of his sexuality but you quickly supress it. Sexuality isn't even really a thing for trolls, everyone likes everyone with few exceptions but damned if you get flushed for some dumb human boy.

Not showing what's going on inside, you huff and mutter, "Okay, fine."

"Will do, bro," he grins, he probably winks too under his stupid fucking sunglasses. He never takes them off, he was even wearing them he night you came here. Who the hell wears sunglasses at home alone at 1am? No one. It's literally just Dave. You should ask about that, but you doubt he'll give you a straight answer, he's not good at those.

You finish you dinner in silence and after shoving the dishes in the washer, you settle on the couch for some crappy TV. English TV isn't _that_different from US TV and the soaps are just as terrible. Dave watches them religiously for some unknown reason. They're packed full of tacky clichés and overdone drama and unrealistic romances and the occasional murder mystery to keep everyone watching and you've been hooked since seeing the first one.

At around 11 Dave retires to his room and you grab your own bedding and snuggle down on the couch. It's obviously pretty old but it's soft and you sink down into a peaceful slumber in a matter of minutes, all previous night time anxieties vanquished.

The next day, Dave arrives home at around 11:30. You're looking over your photo album at the time and starting to get tearing when you hear the sounds of the door unlocking so you swiftly wipe the tears away and shove the album back onto the bookshelf where it resides.

"Hey great news," Dave announces as he hangs his jacket on the rail. He's a little damp; it must be raining out.

"Huh?" you say, looking up from your position on the armchair.

"I talked to my boss, he says he give you an interview Monday," he says as he walks over the couch and slumps down onto it.

You perk up. "Seriously?"

"Yeah, I wouldn't lie, dude." Dave smiles in a small but sincere way and you want to fucking jump on his lap and hug the ever loving shit out of him for doing this for you. You don't, of course, that was be painfully embarrassing to get over, but it's still a thought.

That night you are as close to buzzing are Karkat Vantas can get.

Monday comes and you ready yourself for the interview. Shortly after you arrived, Dave took you shopping for clothes, because his proved to be far too spacious for you. It made you hella uncomfortable for Dave to be spending any amount of money on you so you only allowed him to purchase a couple of t-shirts and pairs of jeans. The jeans you were wearing on the night of the attack came out the washer pretty well so you can still wear them. For the interview, you just stick with jeans and a t-shit, Dave says his boss likes to keep it casual.

Dave's lack of car means you have to walk, but it only takes you about 15 minutes before you reach the restaurant. You won't admit it but your hands are shaking badly and your throat is dry. Dave doesn't do a lot to reassure you, if he's even noticed.

The restaurant itself isn't that large, being in the middle of London and all, but when you step inside through the back entrance, you're hit with a warm mouth-watering aroma from the kitchen to accompany the soothing atmosphere. It makes you smile despite your fear. There's no one in the actual seating area yet, due to it being before closing time.

Unexpectedly, a plump, short man bursts from the kitchen and makes his way over to the both of you and embraced Dave. Well, you weren't expecting that. And then, he hugs you and you aren't really sure if you can hug him back. But you do, because you're a delight.

"Good evening boys!" he announces as he releases you.

"Evening, Mr Manera," Dave says back.

You don't say anything.

"Is this the little troll you were telling me about?" Mr Manera asks and you blush at the way he addresses you. God forbid Dave actually used that string of words when first talking to his boss.

"Yeah," Dave replies.

"Let's talk then, Karkat, is it?" You nod. "Go get ready for service, Dave." He waves Dave away and he goes into the kitchen with a smirk on his lips. "Now, Karkat," he starts once the Strider is gone. "You want a job, yes?"

"Yes," you answer dumbly.

"Can you wait tables?"

"Yes." You've never waited a table in your life, but how hard can it be?

"Can you smile?" Fuck. You do as requested, revealing your fangs.

"Those are sharp teeth you've got there. Don't scare the humans with them, okay?" He grins at you and you close your lips into a sheepish smile. "I'll take you on. You seem like a nice boy. Work with Dave tomorrow to learn the ropes, just don't get frisky about the customers."

_What_?

He must've picked up on your muddled expression. "You're boyfriends, no?"

"No!" you blurt, perhaps too quickly. "We're just _friends._" You put special emphasis on 'friends.'

"Oh. Regardless, no monkey business." He claps you on the shoulder and strides back through to the kitchen.

"Thank you, sir," you call after him just as Dave remerges.

"How'd it go, bro?" he asks.

"I start tomorrow, apparently." You grin happily.

He reciprocates. "Well done, dude."

"I, err, I should head home." Wow, it feels weird to refer to the apartment at 'home' but, you suppose, it is.

"Know your way?" He almost looks concerned.

"Yeah, I think. I'll be fine, idiot, I'm not so incapable I can't walk 15 minutes back to the fucking apartment block. "

"Fine, fine. Don't get distracted by any cute troll girls and end up following them home."

You roll your eyes and tell him goodbye before walking out through the double entrance doors.

Luckily, you make it home unharmed and make yourself dinner while you wait for Dave's return.

Inside, you are absolutely ecstatic. You have a job! Like a real job! You can finally help Dave pay his rent and not be such a couch potato while he's out working. Life is taking a turn for the better, you think.

**Let me know what you think!**


	6. Chapter 6

**Yoo, sorry for waiting so long to update this! I hope it doesn't go weird like the last one did… Thank you for all your lovely reviews, I very much appreciate each one!**

Friday rolls around with big plans in tow. You've began working at the restaurant and picked up a few basic service skills in your first week, you're able to force a smile for customers, even if it is a little stiff. Dave hadn't teased you about it thus far, for which you are grateful.

As it turns out, Dave has a group of troll friends he's met since moving here that he would also like you to meet. You don't think he's seen them since you moved in which has been almost a month now, not that you have been keeping a close track. It makes you nervous to be meeting a group of new trolls, what if they're all highblood jerkoffs? You really don't think Dave would socialise with trolls like that, though, he's got better taste in people than that.

Dave called tonight a 'party' but it's not really a party. If you had to describe it then you would say it was a 'tame get together with some trolls and a human boy.' That suits the situation much better as far as you're concerned. He won't tell you who he's invited over and it's not like you would recognise the names anyway, but it would comfort you to know.

You stopped by the off license on your way home from work and grabbed beer and other various alcoholic substances. Dave was keen to get stuff that also successfully inebriated trolls since the regular stuff didn't quite cut it and he naturally didn't want to be the only one intoxicated. You decide to order pizza later since neither of you feel like cooking.

At seven o'clock you hear a rapping at the door followed by the sound of it swinging open. You guess Dave's friends just let themselves in then, unless it's a very shitty burglar.

"Oh, Dave! We're here!" A cheery cry rings out from a feminine but rough voice. You spin around in the armchair to see a male and female troll making their way into the apartment. The girl is about your height and carries a cane, red glasses cover her – you assume – unseeing eyes, while the boy also has stupid eyewear, these look more like old fashioned 3D glasses with red and blue lenses. He's much taller than his female counter part and has two sets of horns. Weird.

"What's that smell?" the female ponders.

"That would be the new roommate," Dave informs her, finally emerging from the bedroom. "Where's Gam and Tav?"

"Oh, Gamzee'th bringing the wheelchair up. That thing ith heavy, you know." The male troll speaks with a defined lisp which makes you smile a little. He's obviously a mutant with his double horns and what not, he makes you feel comfortable for some weird reason. God, maybe you're pale for him. No, you tell yourself. Now is not the time to think about quadrants. You still haven't moved from the armchair, you're content to just watch the events unfold around you until Dave drags you into it.

"And you didn't help him?" Dave asks incredulously, but you feel he already knows the answer.

"He can handle it," the male troll says, waving his hand.

"Dave, aren't you going to introduce us to this little cherry over here?" the girl troll says, tapping her cane along the wooden floors as she approaches you. You really hope cherry isn't a comment on you blood. No, wait that would be ridiculous how could she even smell it from all the way over there?

"Sure, err Karkat?" You stand as he addresses you and come to find that the female troll is in fact a couple inches shorter than you. Score, you're not going to be the smallest one for once! "The creep in front of you is Terezi. This guy here is Sollux. Guys, that's Karkat."

"Hi," you say, uncertain.

"Hey," replies Sollux, just as another two trolls breach the still open door, one extremely tall and lanky with absurd face paint, the other confined to a wheelchair, horns barely making it past the entrance.

"You made it," Dave comments.

"Yeah," the disabled troll replies. "No thanks to these two."

"Motherfucking stairs, bro, they never get any easier," the lanky troll sighs and parks the wheelchair next to the where Dave and Sollux are stood.

"You could've helped for once," the troll in the wheelchairs says, more directed at Sollux but Terezi points to her glasses and clears her throat, making the disabled troll roll his eyes. She must pull the blind card a lot.

"Anyway, more introductions. Karkat, that's Gamzee," he gestures to the lanky troll who waves lazily with an unnerving grin, "and this down here is Tavros," he gestures to the other new entry who lets out an offended 'hey' at the joke on his condition, "and that is Karkat."

"Come on Cherry, let's go get drunk," Terezi says, looping her arm around yours, making you jump a little, and dragging you over to the alcohol.

"Easy, Tz." Sollux smirks, red and blue crackling from his horns. Psionic. Cool.

You've never really had to opportunity to drink much before now, so you don't want to overdo it and get hammered accidently. Once you all have some sort of beverage in your hand, you head over to the living area. Dave and Sollux take the couch while Terezi gets your armchair. Well, it was hers first. Tavros wheels himself and parks next to the futon, then Gamzee ceremoniously lifts him out and deposits him onto it and slumps down on it himself, immediately picking up Tavros' limp legs and laying them over his own. Hmm, must have a quadrant, you think.

Just as it becomes apparent there's nowhere for you to sit Dave and Sollux shift on the small couch so there's just enough room for you. You take your seat between them, cringing at how tight it is despite how narrow the three of you are.

The six of you discuss your predicament and how you ended up living with Dave. It makes you uncomfortable, but you scowl and put up with it, not wanting to ostracize potential friends. Only having Dave to talk to isn't enough, really. Dave's TV is dismal in size and about 10 years old but everyone is content to watch, except Terezi, who pulls the blind card. You wonder if that ever gets old. Probably.

Gamzee and Tavros and definitely flushed for one another. They exchanging small touches throughout the night, subtle enough to draw attention to them, but open enough to tell what was going on. You thought it was cute, you love romance, even if you've never had one.

While everyone is on their third or fourth beer, you've switched to cola. Getting drunk is not on your tick list tonight but no one else seems to have a problem with it. You wonder how Gamzee will manage to carry the wheelchair down the stairs while drunk. Although he already appears high. Sopor addict, you guess. It's not uncommon for trolls of his colour to become attached to the substance. It helps, you've heard.

As far as colours go, Gamzee and Terezi appear to be highbloods, which surprise you considering how Tavros and Sollux's own tint of grey show them to be lowbloods. Tavros probably isn't higher than brown and yet Gamzee's purple tinted skin show's him to be one of the highest on the hemospectrum. It amazes you considering how shitty everyone was about the damn spectrum back home. That may have just been Texas though; it's not very open to much.

Despite the mix of blood going on, you're very conscious of your own right now. It's making you sick with anxiety. Nothing would make you tell them, Terezi's already asked, and very bluntly too. You stuttered and embarrassed 'I'm not telling you' and shoved Dave who started laughing at your response.

The awkward questions didn't stop there though. Most where from Terezi, she's blunt and snarky and doesn't care what she sounds like. You like her wit, just not when it's directed at you. Dave and Sollux find it all amusing, laughing at your discomfort. You don't think they mean it to be cruel but it's bringing back the negative memories from high school and all of a sudden you feel trapped.

"What's it like to quadrant with a human?" she asks, smirking and you've had enough. You feel the unfortunately coloured blood rising in your cheeks as you shoot out of your chair and practically run to the bedroom, hearing Terezi's confused voice follow you with 'what'd I say?'

You slam the door shut and look around you. You've never been in Dave's room before, you've had no reason to and it's different in here to what you expected. It calms you to see the strings connect across the top of the room, above your head. It serves as a clothes line of photographs, pictures pegged onto the string with small clothes peg. The photos have obviously been taken by Dave himself, his camera resting on the dresser. It's dusty, you notice, all of your frustrations almost forgotten.

You scan the photos with interested eyes. A lot of them are of London's skyscrapers and hipster nature scenes. He's talented, you know that much.

You're snapped out of your daze when the door opens to reveal a concerned looking Dave on the other side.

"You okay, bro?" he asks.

"Yeah," you murmur in reply.

"Sorry about Tz. She's err, well she's her," he says sheepishly, closing the door.

"It's okay. She's nice. They're all nice." What a generic comment.

Dave chuckles at this. "You're not as angry as I remember, Karkles."

"Don't call me that," you sap, but it's true. You've calmed down a lot since you were a teenager, even if you are still prone to bouts of rage, it's not as bad.

"You'll get worse nicknames from that lot," he informs you. It makes you smile more than it irritates you.

"I didn't know you were a photographer," you say offhandedly.

"I'm not."

"This lot says otherwise."

"What can I say? I know how to make the sky pose for me. I'm like a god, I can control everything." You roll your eyes at his terrible metaphors, they're so bad you don't even think they count as metaphors. "Wanna go back out there?" You nod and he leads the way.

Everyone looks up at you when you re-enter the room. Everyone but Gamzee, that is, he's content to lazily stroke Tavros' horns. Ew.

You sit between Dave and Sollux once more, only this time it's a little more awkward. That'll pass, probably.

"You okay, KK?" Sollux asks. Wow, Dave was right about the nicknames.

"Yeah, I'm fine."

The rest of the night passes at a pleasant pace. You ditch your previous arrangements and grab a couple more beers. Fuck it, everyone else is doing it. You order way more pizza than six people can eat and there's going to be a ton of leftovers in the fridge, but you are certainly not complaining about that. At around midnight, everyone piles out the door. You assume Sollux helps with Tavros' wheelchair this time because you don't hear any crashes and shouts after they leave. This apartment complex really needs an elevator.

Dave offered you the bed tonight, something that threw you off. You declined, just as you have since the first time he asked. You're perfectly okay without the bed, trolls don't even sleep on beds naturally. Hmm, you kind wish you had a recuperacoon, right now. Never mind, you're fine without it.


End file.
